Black And White

You were the color of smoke
once…
when I was a dream of lucidity and
You were a heron flying
so dangerously close,

And
I touched Your wings
with
my last breath
as green ice petals
melted
in the deep blue morning,

The death angel praying darkly
hovering
unsure
and we became butterflies in
holy amazement
when
the dragons of time settled down
into the rocks
and sea,
and the sea
returned to Infinity,

We rested…

And somehow became a dot of black, of white
and these dots
stretched into horizons
and these horizons became stripes
blurring in the distance,

fleet-footed on our zebra feet.

— Kailashana, Apr 12, 2008

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Critiques

professor

18 years 1 month ago

Transmutation

Love surely does transcend the laws of Nature and drives us to change constantly into different forms. I loved the image at the end of the far and indistinct dot on the horizon taking its form into a zebra as it comes towards you (reminds me of the famous scene from the film of Lawrence of Arabia where Omar Sharif comes out of the dessert on his camel). Great write Anna, looking forward to your promised next installment that you say is not so black and white. Keith

Kailashana

18 years 1 month ago

I wonder who i was and who

I wonder who i was and who i'll be... lol. Life is so very very short, no matter how long it is.. and love? well love just morphs into something else. that's why it's always 'sought' i suppose. poets, it seems ;-), are a different *breed* altogether, eh? have a long working day again, so i'll post Hummingbird and tell its story when i come home tonight. have a great day all, i very much enjoy this *home* for wayward poets ;-) my working hours and my other commitments, unfortunately, do not give me the time to do justice here, and read all the poems. i have learned, however, that what i can read and comment on were the *right* ones. as the vernacular goes: "it's all good". ~Anna

professor

18 years 1 month ago

The chosen few...

perhaps Anna, although often an "unhappy breed". lol. Definitely made of the "right stuff" although life has usually kicked much of the "stuffing" out at various times and then with our poetry can help push it all back in...bit like the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz. And we sure can morph with the best of them as well. Keith

doorman

16 years 9 months ago

Dear Anna

I failed to notice that this is one of your earlier poems,- the zebra connection, I get it now. I am, like Brian here, quite taken with the last stanza. It distorted my perception and pulled me into an unexpected landscape, different from the space painted in the previous ones. The poem reminds me of conjoined dreams,- one image carries you to the next, and the only luggage you get to keep is a sense of 'I'. Thanks for leading me to this poem. Respectfully, Espen.